


If you are a cliffhanger ending, then I'm the one who doesn't know anything

by ThereAreNoLines



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Holidays, a little late but still counts, aka thor is mortally injured in jotunheim and sif takes the fall, also AU where it snows in new mexico, for whatever reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreNoLines/pseuds/ThereAreNoLines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif, still struggling to accept the reality of her banishment to Asgard, begins to immerse herself in the Midgardian tradition of Christmas, and in the hospitality of her host, Jane Foster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you are a cliffhanger ending, then I'm the one who doesn't know anything

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Jane/Sif, and both Jane and Sif in anything, so I apologize for how horribly ooc this probably is. (I didn't have much to go on since this is such a rarepair. My heart is broken.)
> 
> Title taken from a Lights song, Toes. (I listened to the acoustic version a lot while writing this.)

The cold reminds her of Jotunheim.

It leaks in slowly; at first, Sif barely notices the chill. (After all, there isn’t much of one to feel in New Mexico to begin with.) But the sun begins to rise later and set earlier, throwing off the vigils she holds on the roof of the trailer, cutting short her long, rambling confessions to her brother. (Her heart aches for him more than anyone else on Asgard, and though she knows he listens, it breaks every time she calls out to him but hears nothing in return.) And then, in the middle of the night, she awakes to find frost curling around the edges of the windows, and Jane Foster has laid another blanket over her. (At least, she has to assume that it was Jane.)

It is two weeks into the Midgardian month called December when the first snow falls. It’s past midnight when it happens, and Sif has run out of things to say to Heimdall, finding his constant silence more of a burden than she’d realized. But she couldn’t face the pervasive warmth and small stature of the RV just yet. The cold here is different than Jotunheim, it isn’t solid, it doesn’t hit her in the face as if she’d run into a wall, it was fluid, clear, sharp. It makes her feel alert, and moreover, it makes her feel alive, the most alive she’s felt since she’d been cast out of Asgard.

“Sif?” The sudden sound draws her hand to the sword that is no longer at her side, a reflex yet unlearned, equal parts comforting and heartbreaking. The once goddess turns to her companion before she can contemplate the loss further, flexing her empty had around an invisible hilt.

“Lady Jane.” She says, with a gentle incline of her head. “I’m sorry if I have disturbed you, that was not my intention.”

“…just Jane is fine.” The tiny woman sighs, pulling herself the rest of the way onto the roof of the trailer. “And no, you didn’t. I just…if you’re not using that blanket, I…wouldn’t mind taking it back for the night.” It is only then that Sif notices the oddity of her attire – normally Jane sleeps in nothing but a sleeveless tunic and trousers with the legs removed, but this night she is wrapped up in layers, complete with gloves over her hands as they hover over the blanket in question, which lies still folded and unused beside her.

“Oh, of course. I do not mind the cold.” Sif nods, passing it over, tugging down the sleeves of the plaid shirt she borrowed from Jane’s collection. “It is…bracing.”

“Bracing, huh?” Jane raises an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly the word I would use.”

“You don’t like it.” Sif replies, turning her eyes back out across the desert, the cool breeze rustling through what was left of the underbrush. “I don’t blame you. Your small form must make you…sensitive to the temperature.”

“…okay, I can tell that wasn’t meant to be an insult, so I’m gonna let that one go.” Jane says, after a minute, swinging her legs over the edge of the RV. “Aren’t you tired? You haven’t slept in days.”

“Asgardians do not tire as easily as mortals.” Sif cannot bear to look at the sky any longer, knowing that her brother is watching her, but she cannot look upon him herself. Instead, she looks to Jane, whose features, even contorted in an expression of peculiarity and yet concern, speak of more than just a mortal woman. She belongs in legends. The furrow of her brow, the slight opening of her pale mouth, her eyes, deep and golden brown, searchable for ages – an alternative to the heartbreaking blankness of space. “We can battle for days at a time without rest.”

“Sif…” Jane says gently, and the touch of her hand against her wrist has more stirrings that the frigid wind. “You’re not at war.”

She can feel the smirk gently breaking on her own features, dulled with a sense of sadness. “And who says I am not?”

Before Jane can refute her, she turns away, looking out onto the horizon, which has come under the assault of thick clouds, the stars fading from her view. (She knows Heimdall can still see her, though, and that is still a small comfort.) Caught in the dying light of the campfire come snowflakes, delicate and small, illuminated yellow and orange and red by the waning flame. Sif unfolds her tightly clenched hand, letting flake after flake drift into her open palm, watching them melt. “Snow.” She says softly, looking back to Jane.

Jane laughs, and the sound bubbling up out of her almost doesn’t match the woman she thinks she knows. “Don’t tell me you don’t have snow wherever you’re from.”

“No, we do.” Sif says, letting some spare flakes fall from her palm. “Sort of."

“Well, don’t get used to it.” She replies, and some of the concern has been unetched from her face as she watches the sky. “It’ll never stick around here. It’ll melt by morning.”

“We shall see.” Sif said, as Jane climbed back into the RV, blanket folded around her shoulders. After a moment, she decides to follow her inside. “We shall see.”

* * *

The snow does not, in fact, melt, at least not right away, and the frigid wind brings more than just prickles to Sif’s skin. It’s the wind that has her inside the lab, for even she cannot withstand the weather for too long. Jane, however, is another story. Fragile Jane, with the body of a snowflake, has insisted upon putting on boots and going out to get readings every day despite the inclement weather, sure it was a sign of something to come. Either way, Erik has taken the journey with her this morning, leaving Sif to her own devices.

“Hey! Xena’s up.”

Well, for the most part.

“Lady Darcy.” Sif sighs, not turning away from her contemplation of the machine that made coffee, something that Jane drank most often, and that she was most intrigued by.

“A girl could really get used to this whole ‘Lady’ business.” Darcy says, hopping up on the counter, plucking an orange from the bowl of fruit beside her, starting to peel it. “Makes you feel…important.”

“Do you have business with me, Lady Darcy?” Sif asks, turning. “Because I need to get some exercise in, before I end up becoming soft.”

“Okay, one, there is no way you or that disgustingly slammin’ bod of yours is getting soft.” Darcy starts, pausing to suck on an orange section. “Two, what are you going to do out there? Disembowel some snowmen? Three, actually, I do have business.” She hops down off the counter, the soles of her boots thudding against the tile floor. “You haven’t given us your Christmas list yet.”

“My…what?” Back on Asgard, warriors were praised for their intelligence as well as their strength, and she was no exception, but since coming to Earth, Sif had never felt more stupid. Many simple things had thwarted her, and even now she struggles to keep her face from going pink with shame. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sif winces – Darcy takes full advantage of the variable volume of her voice. “You don’t have Christmas on your warrior planet? Wow, what a waste.”

“I have never heard of this…Christmas before.” Sif reaches for a coffee mug, still staring at the machine, willing it to work. “I assume it’s something…important?”

“Important?” The humans she’s met so far, including Jane and even Erik, have all been intimidated by her, refusing to look her in the eye, taking steps away from her, eying her from the side. She had been taken away from Asgard but Asgard had not been taken away from her. It laid in her stature, her posture, her eyes, and people noticed it, though they did not know what they were noticing. Darcy, however, has always appeared to be immune from this imperceptible barrier, and especially now, as she steps up to her, face level with her chest. “It’s only the biggest holiday in the history of forever, and everyone buys each other shit and tells stories about and old fat guy and his flying reindeer and we put lights on trees and eat too much. It’s amazing.”

“I…” Sif furrows her eyebrows, unsure if Darcy is exaggerating or if the tradition is truly as strange as it sounds. “I’m not sure this is a tradition I’m interested in participating in.”

“Okay, well…maybe I didn’t explain it all that well.” Darcy says. “But…okay, look, I’m going to level with you. Jane has had a shit year, especially after SHIELD showed up and took all of her stuff after you fell out of the sky. And I’m sure you’re not having a great time either. Falling out of the sky probably hurts like a bitch.”

“Not to mention that thing you shot me with.” Sif raises a brow, remembering.

“Yeah, well...anyway, as much as I resent not getting paid…” Darcy sighs, the most genuine sound Sif has heard come out of her in the past few weeks. “…it would be really cool if everyone had a good holiday. You included. So just…make a list of the things you want, and we’ll do our best to get some of them for you. Like presents. I mean, I don’t exactly think we could get our hands on some two-handed magical sword, but we could probably swing you some really nice wool socks. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The coffee machine has still done nothing. Sif resigns and takes a tea bag from the box, since Jane has already shown her how to make tea. “I don’t know, Lady Darcy.”

“Please?” She draws the word out in a plea, and clasps her hands together, expression contorting, eyes widening. “If not for me, then…” She drops her hands, sighing. “Do it for Jane?”

Sif closes her eyes, and Jane is what she sees, eager Jane being crushed by the circumstances around her but pressing on despite them. She wishes she could be so adaptable. “Fine.” She finally says, pressing the microwave buttons with a little hesitation, hoping the loud noises mean something good. “But I don’t want for socks, Lady Darcy, remember that.”

“Hey, anything you want.” She says, moving past her. “…within reason.” A glance over her shoulder as she amends her sentence. “I’m gonna go take the readings now, Xena, make yourself at home.”

“That’s not my…” Sif sighs as Darcy disappears from sight, ignoring the ache in her chest. The only thing she wants is something no one can give her.

* * *

It is late when Jane comes in that night, stomping the snow off her boots by the door. Her parka, as Sif has been assured it is called, hangs nearly to her feet. The fur lined hood doesn’t appear to have helped, as she shakes snow out of her hair once she lowers it. “You look like you just got back from Jotunheim, Lady Jane.” Sif says, eyes straying from the book in her lap more than she’d like to admit.

“I’m going to pretend I know that means and agree with you.” Jane says, pausing for the briefest of seconds before taking off her gloves. “There’s got to be eight inches out there, I’ve never seen anything like this before. At least, not in New Mexico.”

The wonder in her voice, the enthusiasm…it reminds Sif of home, of Thor, and she smiles, in spite of herself. (It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that this is the happiest that she’s seen Jane since her arrival on Midgard.) “Jotunheim is the realm of the frost giants.” She explains. “It snows all the time there. This is nothing compared to that.”

“I wish I could see it.” Jane says, moving over and holding her hands in front of the fireplace. “I love snow, even if it complicates things…” She trails off suddenly, looking at her hands, and then beyond them to the fire. “Wait. This was broken. You fixed it?”

Sif shrugs, looking back down at her book, finding herself warmly pleased by Jane’s surprise. “It’s one of the first things we learn when we’re young. Fire is a means of survival.” She fights it, but glances up again. “And I have to make myself useful somehow, don’t I?”

“But you are useful.” Jane says, a hollow assertion, for what has Sif done other than take up space, draw unnecessary attention, ruin Jane’s livelihood? She smiles, shaking her head, tracing her picture in the book. It is strange to see herself in print. She thought all chances of that were destroyed the moment she was cast from Asgard. She had mourned the erasing of her name from future pages in the first days, but now that she saw Midgard had already immortalized her – well, some incarnation of her that she barely recognized as herself – it eased the pain. But only slightly. “Are you…reading about yourself?”

Sif slams the book shut, unsure why she is embarrassed as Jane leans over her shoulder. “No, I…” She searches. “Lady Darcy told me about something called Christmas today.”

“You really don’t need to call Darcy a lady.” Jane says, sitting on the arm of the chair Sif currently occupies. “I think it’s starting to go to her head.”

“Regardless…” Sif starts, turning to glance up at Jane, who on her perch on the armrest is finally level with her. Her cheeks are colored red from the cold, the rest of her pale, fingertips blue as she holds herself upright. For an instant, she burns with the desire to take her hands in her own and warm them, to make her pale skin flush red again. But the urge disappears, leaving her breathless. “She was talking about a fat man and flying reindeer and the exchanging of presents, and it was all very confusing. I had no idea Midgardians celebrated traditions that were so…odd.” She finishes delicately.

Jane laughs again, and effortlessly, it cuts through her chest. (Sif has been nearly run through before, but never with a blade so effective as the sound of Jane Foster’s laugh.) “It’s just a legend parents tell their kids to trick them into behaving.” She explains. “If you’re good, Santa will bring you presents. It…sort of loses the magic when you’re not a kid anymore. But the exchanging of gifts doesn’t, not really.” Jane fidgets with her frozen fingertips when she talks. “I don’t know, it was always the part I liked best. Getting something for someone that you know they’ll really like, watching them unwrap it, watching their expression.” She smiles. (A better blade than her laugh.) “For a minute, it makes you feel like a kid again.”

Sif can’t find her voice for a minute. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds…delightful. And you want me to participate in your tradition?”

“Well, yeah, why not?” Jane says, as she hops off the arm of the chair. “There has to be something you want.” She pauses at the hallway. “I mean…other than going home.”

And for the first time, there is something else Sif wants. She wants to see Jane Foster smile like that again.

* * *

“If I may…” Sif pauses to contemplate all she has learned in the past hour. “The almighty lord that many of your people worship and venerate…is but a mere infant?” She laughs, and for a moment the sheer absurdity of it all fills her chest, making her almost jovial. The feeling is unfamiliar anymore, so it is almost intoxicating, too much for her starved system. She bends at the waste slightly, hand at her stomach, sure she looks ridiculous.

“Well, when you put it that way…”Jane smiles herself as Sif straightens up. Sif had accompanied Jane to town on a whim, and they’d passed a curious display in a shop window, with a baby in a bed of hay, surrounded by people in long robes. Naturally, she’d inquired. “No, you’re right, it’s a little ridiculous. But he grows up, you know. Sacrifices himself for all mankind. I don’t really like what the rest of it stands for, but Jesus wasn’t exactly a bad guy. And he probably made a really cute baby.” She added, after a slight pause.

Sif slides her hands into the pockets of the red plaid coat she had taken from Erik. (She has yet to amass her own wardrobe aside from a few necessities from the local thrift shop, and is living with castoffs from Darcy and Erik – Jane is too small to share her clothing.) “Then you do not participate in such worship?”

Jane shakes her head. “No, not really. Science, fact…it’s a pretty powerful deterrent.” She sends a curious glance up at her, searching almost. Sif recognizes the expression by now, as it constantly grazes Jane’s features. “Or at least it was.”

Sif glances down at the ground. “I expect my arrival has…challenged some of your views.”

“You could say that again.”

Sif furrows her eyebrows. “I expect my arrival – “

“No, you don’t actually have to say it again.” Jane says, touching her arm for a brief second. Somehow, it passes through the thick material of the coat, and she swears she can feel her fingertips on her skin. “I just mean…Sif, I don’t know if you’re aware of this but…you’re a remarkable being. You could change everything.” She stops, turning to face her, and Sif cannot help but do the same. She can barely hold her gaze at first – Jane looks at the world as though looking through a microscope, but this is something more, something far from clinical. She rarely feels seen like this, even on Asgard. People see plenty of the warrior Sif, of the Lady Sif, but never just Sif. She could go weeks at a time without remembering that there even was just Sif. But Jane sees her. It is equal parts unnerving and warming, comforting. “Science is about discovery. Not absolutism. And if I didn’t appreciate challenges to my outlook, then I would be no scientist.” She reaches for her arm again, closing her hand around it. “You…you’re discovery. And I’m lucky to have you here.”

Her sincerity is bone shaking. “Even though my presence has disturbed your career? Your life?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not your fault.” Jane says. “You didn’t ask to crash land on Earth like an…Amazonian meteor.” She traces her stature with her eyes once before she turns and begins walking. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to shack up with an actual goddess.”

“I am no more a goddess than you.” Sif follows her, boots crunching in the icy remnants of the snow, which true to form, had mostly melted away in the New Mexico sun. “I am one but in name only, a demotion of my own making, unfortunately.”

“So even all-powerful warrior goddesses make mistakes.” Jane says, flippant but not insincere. Affirming, if anything. Though the guilt of her mistakes is a constant gnawing in her chest, she knows Jane’s implied sentiment to be at least factually true, even if she cannot apply it to herself. “That makes me feel better.”

Sif smiles. “Besides, your legends are hardly accurate.”

“So you aren’t married to the God of Thunder, then?” Jane grins wickedly.

“You have been doing your reading.” Sif nods. “I am not. There was a time where I wanted to be, but...” There is an unexpected but familiar pang in her chest, for Heimdall, but also for Thor, whom she cannot force herself to blame for this mess. “I am no queen, anyway. That is left to women different than I. I love Thor as I love my brother. Not as one should love a husband. Even so, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him…haven’t done.” She adds softly.

“…did Loki really cut your hair off?” Jane mercifully changes the subject.

“That legend is factual.” Sif reaches up, pushing some raven hair behind her ear. “Most Asgardians are born with golden locks, and I was no exception. And then Loki…well, I learned to live with it.”

“…it suits you.” Jane says, after a moment, reaching up and out and tucking the rest of her hair behind her ear. The air between them is frigid, and so Sif excuses the tightness in her chest as the fault of the thin air. “I can’t imagine you any other way.”

In that moment, Sif cannot imagine anything else either.

* * *

Christmas day approaches sooner than Sif would have liked, though with some help from Darcy and some hours spent waitressing at Isabela’s diner, (she had been surprisingly nice over the mostly blank application, though Sif suspected it was only because the patrons were all too eager to look at her, thus drawing them in,) Sif managed to get all of the presents that she needed. There were, however, finer points of the Christmas tradition that she had trouble grasping.

She comea home from the diner one night to find Erik swearing as he fights with some tangled cords, and an unnaturally green pine tree standing, slightly lopsided, by the fireplace. “What is this tree doing indoors? Surely it cannot grow here.”

“It’s a Christmas tree.” Jane had brushes past her, carrying a dilapidated box that jingled with its contents every step of the way. She sets it down in the recliner, pulling out a brightly colored ball on a string. “You put lights and ornaments on it, the presents go underneath it. It’s a tradition.”

“What purpose do the baubles and lights serve?” Sif asks, receiving somewhat stern looks from all involved.

“You don’t question the Christmas tree.” Darcy says. “You just don’t.” And resulting from her ferocity, she hasn’t ever since.

* * *

“Why do we cover the gifts in this useless paper?” Sif asks, gritting her teeth out of frustration. It is only two days before Christmas, and a disastrous hour of wrapping has left her covered in paper cuts and pieces of tape were stuck all over her skin. She dares not look in a mirror, for fear of what she looks like otherwise. “It will just be torn off anyway, this is pointless!”

“Would you relax?” Darcy throws a pointed glare at her, carefully taping the edge on a near perfectly wrapped box. “It’s not that hard. You might be a goddess, but you’re definitely not a domestic one.”

“Was that meant to insult me?” Her patience is wearing thin.

“Xena. Calm your tits.” Darcy shifts across the floor towards her, refolding the edges on the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles. “It doesn’t have to look good, you just have to cover it. Jane will appreciate the effort.”

“Don’t…” Sif exhales. “I never said this was Jane’s gift.”

“Yeah, okay.” Darcy rolls her eyes. “You’re a goddess of subtlety, Xena.”

“Stop addressing me as Xena!”

* * *

“But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!’” Erik closes the book, reaching immediately for the mug of eggnog Jane had set beside him.

“That story was completely nonsensical.” Sif shakes her head, sitting cross-legged near the fire.

“It’s just a story, Sif.” Jane explains. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”

“Well, it would certainly be more enjoyable if it was.” She presses. “First of all, reindeer cannot fly, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to pull a sleigh full of toys for every child in the world. A sleigh that large cannot possibly exist.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a killjoy.” Darcy groans, her head falling against the armrest of Erik’s chair, having sat right at his feet while the story was being read. “Just go with it.”

“And if someone is unlawfully entering your residence in the middle of the night – through the chimney no less – why would you not take measures to defend your home and family from this stranger?” Sif poses, looking to Jane for affirmation.

“That’s it.” Darcy stands. “I’m going to bed before you demolish any more of my childlike wonder that’s survived college.” She pauses, turning back towards them. “Do not forget to put the cookies out for Santa or I will end all of you. Even you, warrior princess.” She makes an odd gesture towards Sif, pointing at her eyes before pointing at her, disappearing down the hallway to her room.

“I…I did not mean to offend.” Sif says slowly, looking to Erik, who appears perfectly content to tune them out with his eggnog, before turning to Jane, who looks like she’s trying to suppress amusement. “Should I apologize?”

“No, it’s Darcy, she’ll get over it.” Jane sighs. “But I will admit, I’ve never heard ‘The Night Before Christmas’ analyzed like that before.”

Sif smiles as Jane does, realizing she meant it as a compliment of sorts. “So…what happens now?”

“Well…” Jane starts. “Erik is going to get drunk on eggnog and sleep on the couch, and we’re going to put out some cookies and then go to sleep, and in the morning, we’ll open presents and eat until we all fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon.”

“That sounds…pleasant.” Sif finally says, watching the fireplace in the depths of Jane’s eyes. “It is certainly no Asgardian banquet, but will do in its stead.”

“Do you have holidays back home?” Jane asks, turning in the chair to gaze down at her, cheeks flushing red from the warmth of the fire. (Or at least, Sif supposes.)

“We have…events.” Sif concludes. “Celebrations. Victories, coronations, marriages and births. Even deaths, if they are honorable, can become celebrations in their own right.” She cannot help but smile, thinking of the many times she let herself get carried away, caught up in the fanfare, the drink, the merriment. “We can celebrate for days at a time, it is really quite something to see, I’m sure.” She laughs a little, remembering. “Sometimes our celebrations got us into much trouble, but they were indeed worth it.”

“Wow.” Jane raises an eyebrow. “That sounds truly legendary. I wish I could experience it first hand.”

For the first time since Sif has arrived, she can look at where she came from, what she’s done, everything she can remember, and everything she’s afraid to forget, and not feel inescapably guilty, or distantly melancholy. “Trust me, my lady.” She says, grinning for the first time since before Jotunheim. “An Asgardian celebration is not for the faint of heart.”

Jane turns her head, wearing a grin of her own. “Well…I can only hope that our meager holiday can compare.” She stands. “Goodnight, Sif.”

Sif inclines her head, intending to sneak some of Erik’s eggnog before she heads to bed herself. “Goodnight, Lady Jane.”

For once, she does not protest, merely offering a coy smile in response as she retires for the night.

* * *

Sif is the first one awake on Christmas morning. In fact, she’s always the first one awake, usually plagued by the inability to slumber peacefully for long, but this morning, there’s a smaller margin between the time that she rises, and the time everyone else rises. Darcy is first, though she is usually last, bounding down the hallway in black and pink striped pajamas, her hair a veritable tangled cloud behind her head. “Xena! It’s Christmas!”

Sif has passed annoyance with the nickname and instead finds it amusing, laughing as she takes in the sight of her. “Yes, indeed, Lady Darcy.” She says, warming her hands by the fire she had built. She has never been so cold for so long in all her life, but she’s starting not to mind it. “I understand now, it feels…exciting.”

“It is!” Her volume does not appear to be affected by the early hour.

Erik is next, going straight to the coffee machine without so much as a glance at the two of them, groaning as he sits down in his armchair. “Oh, to be young again.” He sighs, glancing at Darcy, who has a hard time sitting still, her excitement making her vibrate.

“Where’s Jane?” Darcy sighs, letting her head fall back. “We can’t start without her.”

“Still sleeping, I’d wager.” Sif stands. “I’ll go wake her.” She adds, glancing at Darcy, who looks ready to pounce.

“Hurry…” Darcy throws herself back against another chair, drawing the word out, and Sif would be lying if she said she didn’t take her time down the hallway to Jane’s room just to spite her.

Sif pauses at the doorway. Jane’s room, like all the others, is small, even more cramped by the amount of things she has managed to cram into it. Her bed is the only clean surface in the room, the walls covered with pictures and diagrams and scribbled notes. To the left, just clearing the door, is a bookshelf with stacks upon stacks of volumes, the stacks spilling forth across the floor, speaking to the woman who inhabited it most accurately. She was spread out across the bed, taking up much space for someone so small, the blanket tangled with her oddly angled legs. “Lady Jane.” She says simply, reaching across the bed to her shoulder, gently gripping her shoulder to wake her. The sun is fully breaking by now, leaking pink and orange and pale yellow light all over Jane’s sleep-warmed skin.

She stirs, rolling over to get her bearings, gripping the edge of the mattress. “Sif?” She says when she focuses, looking a bit lost for a moment, pushing herself up on her elbows. “What time is it?”

“Late enough that Darcy is becoming impatient.” Sif says, eyes wandering as the sheet slowly slips off her form. Her shoulders are covered in freckles, from being out in the sun so often, an imperfection that Sif finds most fascinating, wondering how far they travel down her body, what skin the sun has kissed and left its mark on. “It is the morning of Christmas, after all.”

“Oh…right.” Jane shakes her head as if to clear it, sitting up more, easing out of the haze of sleep slowly but with relative ease. “It is, isn’t it.” She pushes her hand through her sleep strewn hair, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for her glasses on the side table. She moves slowly, but deliberately as she pushes her glasses up her nose, reaching for a cast off sweatshirt before pulling it on. “I’m surprised she didn’t come and dump cold water on me.”

Sif cannot help but smile at the image, having both done and experienced the same. “Yes, well…perhaps it would be best to go back out before she has the opportunity.”

“Wait.” Jane takes her wrist, pulling her back down before she can fully stand, reaching beneath her bed, fumbling blindly as she still holds her down with the other. “I wrapped your present last night, and um…maybe you should open it now. Before we go out there.” She finally pulls her hand out from under the bed and hands her a small package, wrapped in blue paper with glittering white snowflakes.

“I…” Sif hesitates, taking it from her, tracing along the edge. “This is what you want?”

Jane nods. “Go ahead.”

Sif is careful at first, running her fingertips under the edge of the paper on one side, then the other, releasing it from the tape that held it together, and then again along the last seam, slow, methodical, neat.

“If Darcy was here, she’d be super pissed at you for taking so long.” Jane says, grinning as she watches her, eyes flickering from the package to her face, never remaining still. “You’re supposed to just rip it open.”

“And disrespect your careful work?” Sif says, finally sliding the paper off the wrapped object. “I don’t think so, my lady.” The box is small and white, fitting in the palm of her hand, the lid popping off with little prompting. On the bed of white cotton laid a silver chain, and at the end of it, a small metal charm shaped like a sword. “Oh…”

“Do you like it?” Jane asks as she lifts it from the box, the thin filigree chain slipping between her fingers, but the charm laying in her palm just the same. “I just…I saw it, and I remembered the stories you’d told me, the battles you’d fought, and I…I mean, it’s not your helm or anything, but I thought maybe it would make you feel…a little more at home.”

Sif cannot remember the last time she received a gift that wasn’t the spoils of war or reward, certainly never one as touching as Jane’s gift. “That is…so thoughtful” It is but a small gesture, but with so much care, so much meaning, that Sif cannot help but be overwhelmed. “Thank you, Jane.”

“You called me – “ Sif doesn’t realize she’s kissing Jane until she doesn’t finish her sentence. Sif has always been one for plans, leaving the impulse to Thor and the others, but she cannot help it. Maybe it’s Midgard, maybe it’s Jane, but either way, she’s kissing her before she realizes that she’s always wanted to.

Jane doesn’t seem to mind either. Sif is about to pull away, worried she’s breached some level of propriety but Jane folds her hands into Sif’s hair, pulling her back, fingertips twisting into her locks in earnest as she kisses her back. Sif has had many a lover on Asgard, that she will not deny, but this time she is of mortal form, and so is Jane, and perhaps it is the quiet but constant threat of mortality, but she can never remember a time when a simple kiss resonated through her like a shockwave, stirring something inside of her that she’d thought gone since her arrival on Midgard, a void she’d been suffering from since the loss of her home.

Jane cups the back of her neck, eyes flickering open as she pulls away, fingertips remaining pressed into her skin as she gazes up at her. Sif can feel her pulse thrumming beneath her skin, her hands resting on the bare skin of her thighs. “…Jane.” She finally says, gasps between breaths both quick and heavy. “You called me Jane.”

Sif kisses her again, though this time it is light, pressed to her forehead for a brief moment before she pulls away, drawing her fingertips along her cheek, marveling at the way Jane’s skin flushes beneath her touch, and at the same time, wondering what she must look like, her face warm, her hair tangled from Jane’s grip. The thought brings a slight smile to her lips. “Merry Christmas, Jane.”

“Merry Christmas, Sif.” And although the air is cold, Jotunheim and even Asgard are as distant as the stars.


End file.
